Work Text:
“And that,” Tony declares, arms thrown wide open as he gestures to the now empty top floor of his tower, “is how you throw a party.”
You simply watch him, and the rare care-free smile on his face has its usual effect on you. Your heart beats just a little bit faster, and your cheeks begin to heat up as he walks over to you.
And then, just like that, you remember the reason for the party, remember that you’re leaving in two days, remember why you’re leaving, and you’re no longer quite so happy.
“That was a wonderful night,” you finally manage to say, pulling yourself away from that train of thought, and you raise your glass in his direction, “here’s to you, Tony.”
“No, here’s to you, ___,” he insists with a shake of his head even as he refills his own glass and sits down next to you, and when he turns to you, his expression is disturbingly inscrutable, “this entire night was for you.”
You kind of want to smack him for bringing you right back to the very thing you had been trying not to think of, but you don’t, instead pulling yourself together again.
“To us, then.”
“To us,” he repeats, clinking his glass against yours.
You sip your drink and let the silence stretch between you, pretending that you don’t feel his gaze weighing heavy on you. You can tell that he’s struggling to say something, and yet when he finally speaks, it isn’t at all what you had been expecting.
“Dance with me ___?” he asks, lips quirked into a half smile.
It takes you all of a minute to realize that he’s actually being serious.
“Tony,” you begin with a chuckle, “there’s no music.”
Even as you say the words you know that it’s pointless, and you’ve barely finished speaking when J.A.R.V.I.S. starts the music.
Tony’s smile widens as he stands and offers you his hand. You take it without thinking too much about what you’re getting yourself into, and your snap-decision is more than amply rewarded when he draws you up and into his arms in one fluid movement. His hands settle warm on your waist, and you’re engulfed in his scent- expensive cologne, and peppermint, and a hint of whiskey as his breath washes over your upturned face.
You’re not drunk, not even buzzed in fact- you’ve only had about three drinks all evening after all. But now, looking into his eyes, you begin to feel drunk on something else entirely.
Because Tony’s looking at you the way you’ve always wanted him to. And suddenly you’re allowing yourself to think that maybe what you feel for him isn’t so wrong, so impossible, after all.
Because you’ve been denying yourself ever since you first caught a glimpse of this thing that could grow between you if given the chance.
Denying yourself, and hiding, and pretending you don’t see it, that you had never seen it all.
Because you have taught yourself to think of love as something that is sure to rot with time, taught yourself to expect pain, because you feel like you’re broken, because-
You’ve constructed a wall from your million excuses, but tonight in his arms, tonight with his breath warm on your neck, tonight with his heart beating against your chest, tonight, your wall seems flimsy as air, and with every step that you move in tandem, one of your reasons blows away, until there’s nothing left at all.
So you dance, and you dance, and you dance, till the moon is low in the sky, and you know that the sun will rise soon.
And even then you don’t want to stop, but as you sway past the glass wall, barely moving, Tony brings you to a complete halt.
You lift your head from his shoulder, draw back a little, and look up at him, letting your eyes ask the question for you.
“It’s nothing,” he says, gaze skittering away from yours, his tone defeated, and your heart sinking, you think that he is going to leave it at that, but then he is looking back at you, suddenly determined, “Actually, no, it’s not nothing.”
You wait for him to continue, to explain what the problem is, and there’s a part of you that suspects that everything is about to change. But he doesn’t speak, only looks at you as if he has already lost you.
That, that godawful defeat that floods his eyes is what finally drives you to speak.
“So tell me, Tony,” you’re unable to curb the newfound ferocity that runs through your words, your heart beating faster with it.
“I don’t want you to leave,” he confesses, and now finally, his eyes are undisguised as he looks at you, looks at you as if you are his very heart. “I can’t bear the thought of it. I’m in love with you, ___, you’re…you’re everything to me. And I can live without you, sure, but it would suck and I’d really rather not.”
“Are you asking me to stay, Tony?”
“Yes, god yes!! That’s exactly what I’m asking,” the words tumble out in a flood and then he gulps and pulls himself together a little, “And I know you could do so much better than me. But ___, we’d be happy together, so if you think that’s enough-”
“Yes,” you interrupt before he can get any further, “Of course it is. Of course I’ll stay.”
“Good,” he breathes finally, words heavy with relief, “I’m glad.”
You lean in when the words are barely past his lips and he meets you halfway; his lips on yours are slightly chapped, and it’s all bumping noses and clashing teeth and more than a little awkward for a second. But only for a second, and after that you find a rhythm and lose yourself in his kiss, and when he pulls away, you find yourself following his motion, unwilling to stop kissing him even though you’re as short for breath as he is.
The smile he gives you now is indulgent, the look in his eyes heart-wrenchingly tender as he cups your face with one hand, thumb stroking gently over your cheekbones.
“Kiss me again, Tony,” you ask when you’ve finally regained your breath, your words soft but not lacking in conviction and Tony is smirking now, eyes slightly widened at your boldness, “Make love to me. Give me your heart.”
“I already have,” he whispers and then he stares at you, entirely lovestruck, for so long that you start to wonder if you’ve gone too far. But then he leans in and kisses you just the way you want him to- his lips claiming yours, his hands warm and gentle as they move over your waist. He is pouring out his heart, as if this one moment in time, this kiss, is the most important thing in his entire life.
When he pulls away you’re left breathless, your legs weak, clinging to him as if he is the only real thing in your world.
You rest your head on his chest only to find that his heart is pounding, and you find yourself smiling as you feel him drop a kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. And if you didn’t know better, you’d think that he’s a little unsteady himself.
And when you raise your head to meet his gaze, you find that he is studying you with the infinite care he usually reserves for his work.
“Promise me you’ll still be here in the morning, ___,” he sounds doubtful even as he speaks the words, and you begin to understand that this all too new relationship is as precious to him as it is to you, “that you’ll be right beside me when I wake up tomorrow, and the morning after that-”
“And the morning after that, and the one that after that,” you say, cutting him off with your fingers pressed to his lips, “yeah, I promise Tony.”
You wait in silence as he lets your words sink in, and only when he nods his assent do you lean up and kiss him again. And this time your hands stray from his shoulders, as his move from your waist.
You leave a trail of clothes scattered over the floor as you make your slow way to his bedroom, and he spends what little is left of the night on making love to you just as you had asked.
[You fall asleep in his arms in the rosy glow of the approaching dawn, and wake up in his arms still when the sun is high in the sky, afternoon light setting your bare skin afire.]